Mr. Jed Handcock rolled up his red-and-black flannel shirtsleeve and threw his papers down on the imitation stone counter. “Stop calling me that, you moron.” A refined British accent came out of his mouth, making the barbs of his words even more sharp. “I’m not a Homo.” I flinched at the harshness of the customer’s abrasive attitude. I glanced at Tom on my right and Laverne on my left, hoping to catch someone’s eye, but they were both engrossed in conversations at their intake stations. It was always busy this time of day at the DMV, the waiting room packed